Murderous Trifle
by Noir Lime Canuto
Summary: "Dear Mum, I don't like the other kids. All the smart ones are snobby and all the nice ones are foolish, and it leaves very few worth speaking to." Blaise Zabini has decided he hates everyone at school, until he meets a crying Hufflepuff. Fluff.


_**Disclaimer**__:Harry Potter is the property_ _J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended._

**Murderous Trifle**

_Dear Mum,_

_ I don't like it here too much. I like learning, but I don't like the other kids. All the smart ones are snobby and all the nice ones are foolish, and it leaves very few worth speaking to._

Blaise tapped his wand to the parchment and the words seeped away. Then, he pressed his quill down and began again.

_Dear Mum,_

_ I know you want me to write telling you I've got a lot of friends, but I don't. But that's alright, I pretty much hate everyone anyway. I don't talk to anyone if I can help it, so half the time people don't notice me, and the other half they attempt to fill the silence with the sound of their own bloody voice. There's this one boy in my Herbology who won't shut up, and goes on and_

Blaise cleared the parchment again with a sigh.

_Dear Mum,_

_ I love school a lot. Everyone is really nice. I'm in Slytherin, which is good because the colour scheme nicely compliments my skin tone. You know those flecks of gold in my eyes? Really brought out by the gre_

The parchment was tapped again.

_ Dear Mum,_

_ Schools alright. Everyone's decently nice. I'm in Slytherin, but I've spoken with kids from all the houses. There's a boy in my Herbology who I'm friends with, named Terry Boot, from Ravenclaw. He's pretty nice. Really into dragons, which is a bit weird, but I guess it's always good to have a hobby._

_ Everyone says Potions and History of Magic are the worst, but they're my best classes. History of magic is really easy, you wouldn't believe. All you have to do is pay attention and take notes. I don't even study for the tests, it's all pretty easy to remember. And potions is just like cooking, you know, except minus the house elves insisting that they do it for me. (The house elves here are just like the ones back home. There's this short little one who reminds me a lot of Twinkle.)_

_ I know you like divination, but I think it starts second or third year, because I don't have it yet._

_ Regards, **B. Zabini**_

__Deciding that that must be pleasant enough for his mother to quickly read then toss away, Blaise tucked the letter into a pale blue envelope and made his way out of the common room, down the hall, and off toward the owlry.

As he walked through the corridors and up several flights of enchanted stairs, he watched the portraits move across the walls. He wondered if someone painted a picture of him, it would have his same personality. He remembered reading a book about someone who had their portrait painted, and it turned gruesomer with every bad act they committed. Was there really a spell for that?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of somebody crying in the owlry. Probably someone small, he thought. Probably a girl, or a boy as young as him.

He wondered for a moment if he should turn back, or ignore them. But he had to deliver the letter, or his mother would send him another five, asking how school was.

As he walked through the door-frame, he saw he was right. It was a girl, and she was a little smaller than himself. Her face was pink from crying, and is contrasted gently with her light blond pigtails. She was wearing a Hufflepuff tie. She looked a bit familiar, from Transfiguration perhaps.

"Hannah?" he tried quietly as soon as he could remember her name.

She looked up from her hands, trying desperately to wipe her eyes. "I-I didn't know you kn-knew m-my name," she whispered, her bottom lip trembling.

Seeing that she wasn't going to shove him away, Blaise sat down beside her, trying to ignore the fact that there were owl feathers and droppings all over the floor.

"'Course I do," he replied with a weak smile. He'd be surprised, too, if he were her, as they sat on opposite sides of Transfiguration, and he didn't think they'd ever spoken.

"I-I know y-yours," she said, looking up at him through teary eyes, "It's B-blaise. Your Dr-dr-drac-co M-malfoy's friend, r-right?"

"No," Blaise replied, the weak smile replaced with a frown, "I'm not. Why'd you think that?" Blaise had never much liked Draco Malfoy, especially since he seemed to be under the impression that the rest of the world, Blaise included, was madly in love with him.

"He t-t-told us," Hannah mumured, a little defensively.

"Oh. Well, he lied. I think he's a snotty git." Blaise left out the fact that he assumed most people were snotty gits.

Hannah was silent, before saying, "I thought he w-was alright, b-but he's really m-mean. P-p-pansy is, too."

Blaise thought for a moment, trying to recall everything he knew about Pansy Parkinson. The simpering girl who always batted her eyelashes too much whenever she tried to engage him in conversation. "I don't like her, either."

After a few minutes of talking about various classmates, Hannah seemed to stop crying a bit. Then she explained why she'd been crying, which started her off crying all over again.

"Pansy P-p-parkinson s-said that since I f-fed my owl t-tr-tr-trifle, he was g-g-going to-to," Hannah broke off into little sobs.

Blaise looked around helplessly at the owls. When none of them offered any words of advice, he hesitantly began to pat her back.

This seemed to have the opposite effect, as soon Hannah was clinging to him, sobbing loudly as ever.

"Your owl will be fine, trust me," he murmured, trying to sound reassuring.

Hannah shook her head into his robes, pigtails bobbing.

"Pansy's just jealous of you, she wanted to make you sad since she can't be happy."

Hannah looked up, brown eyes wide and teary. "Wh-what m-makes you say th-that?" she whispered.

"She looks like a pug," Blaise stated frankly, "Whereas your nose is perfectly pretty." He tapped it lightly with his index finger for emphasis. "Also, she's got that dreadfully coarse black hair. Yours is pretty and light," he added, gesturing to her messy pigtails.

"Y-you really think s-so?"

Blaise nodded. "I wouldn't lie."

Hannah looked down, her eyebrows knitting together. "But I heard all S-slytherins l-lie every other sentence. Be-because they're c-cursed."

"Don't believe everything you hear," Blaise said quietly, smiling weakly as she looked up.

Blaise was a little surprised when Hannah hugged him after that, but he knew he shouldn't have been, seeing as his robes were already damp all over with her tears.

"Thanks, Blaise!" she whispered with a smile before she skipped off back to the Hufflepuff common room, probably to inform her friends that not all Slytherins were evil.

Blaise called a goodbye in reply, but he doubted she'd heard him.

He reached into his pocket and opened the envelope, then pulled out his wand and tapped the parchment once more.

_ Dear Mum,_

_ Schools alright. Classes are easy. I'm in Slytherin. I have a friend who's a Hufflepuff, named Hannah Abbott. She's really nice, but a bit gullible. You'd like her, though._

_ Regards, **B. Zabini**_


End file.
